Where's Waldoerr, Voldimort
by 2ptTakrill
Summary: Answer to AramilOniasha's challenge to kill Voldimort with a muggle.
1. Chapter 1

Where's Waldo…err, Voldimort

Chapter 1: Flight Interrupted

Voldimort, Dark Lord, heir of Salazar Slytherin, Master of the Death Eaters and future ruler of the wizarding world was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively. He was high in the sky above England, south of London. The lights of the distant city visible along the horizon.

He was just returning from the continent where he visited the once great wizard, Grindelwald.

It sickened him to see how far the older man had fallen. Disgusted by the fact that in his dodder age his former idol was now actually afraid of seeking power, advising him to abandon his quest for the master wand.

More proof that it was only he, himself, who was destined to bring about the glory once envisioned by the great Salazar, who's ring now graced his finger.

His ability to fly without the aid of magical devices, something even the celebrated Dumbledore couldn't do, was another.

Voldimort was master of magic's lesser wizards thought impossible, setting him above their petty rule and fearful hiding. He would not hide his greatness from the muggle world and under his rule, the great families of magic would at long last be recognized by the whole world. Under him, of course.

Yes, Lord Voldimort was full of himself and he loved flying. Loved the sense of superiority it gave him as he looked down on the world below, the muggles scurrying about like insignificant ants. Loved the fact that it was a power no other wizard or witch was known to have. Not even ancient Flamel, creator of the Sorceror's Stone. Another disappointment. Voldimort would never allow immortality, or power of any sort go out of fear.

As he flew beneath the clouds his breast grew warm at the thought of another power he held, this one over his supposed destroyer, the hope of the weakling world, that bright shinning lie; Harry Potter.

His lip curled in disdain as his mind filled with thoughts about the boy who lived.

There were those among his own followers who lived in fear of Potter, who quailed when it was learned that Potter had received a vision of the attack on that thin blood, Weasley.

They had muttered how it was a power Harry held over him, that he could invade the Dark Lord's very mind, but he proved the doubters wrong. It wasn't Potter's power, but his. He used that link to control and manipulate the boy, bringing him to the Hall of Mysteries and into Malfoy's clutches.

Malfoy, another disappointment, may he rot in Azkaban.

With a malicious chuckle, he drew his mind inward, away from the countryside passing below to the small and annoying spot in the back of his consciousness that was Harry Potter. The world around him faded as he focused on the link between them, pushing himself to the front of the boy's mind, making himself visible as if he was actually there.

Looking about the vaguely dreamlike world of Potter's mind, Voldimort found himself standing in a subway station, beneath London from the look of it.

His smile grew predatory as he witnessed Harry's reaction to his appearance. The stumbling fool blundered through his jacket, trying to draw forth his wand, nearly falling from his feet as his fear unmanned him.

Voldimort laughed as he looked upon this, his prophesied destroyer.

He would show them. The great Voldimort was not a victim of fate, but the master of his own destiny.

He was distracted from visions of glory by the strange sense of building pressure and a rapidly growing noise behind him, in the real world. Leaving Harry's mind, he turned to look. He saw bright lights and…

****(Page break)

Captain Theodore Hodgeson, Theo for short, checked his flight gauges. His eyes absently looked through the cockpit's windscreen, along the plane's wings, constantly looking for potential problems the way he had been taught in the Royal Air Force.

After finishing school he had gone to the RAF College at Cranwell, Lincolnshire, where he trained first as an officer, then as a pilot in her majesty's air force. For the next six years he had flown C-130J Hercules cargo planes, followed by two as the pilot of a new C-17 Globemaster, one of only four in the English Air Force. It had been a great honor, the crown jewel of his military carrier, making it easy for him to move into his new, civilian career as the pilot of one of the new Airbus A380s.

Theo loved his life and a warm smile graced his lips as he reflected upon it. He had a wonderful career with a promising future, a loving wife, Patricia, and two beautiful children. A daughter Agatha who was ten, and William, seven, named for his own father.

Yes, he was thinking to himself, life is good, when out of the corner of his eye he caught just a glimpse of something in the air before his right wing. He had just enough time to see that it was large, roughly man sized with what looked like great wings fluttering behind it, before it was sucked through the outside engine of four. Easier it was, to see the resulting fireball that engulfed the massive nacelle.

The great plane shuddered and rocked, alarms screaming within its cockpit as Theo automatically killed power to number one, while simultaneously kicking up engines two and three to compensate for the loss of four.

"Mayday, mayday" his copilot, Stephen Aberforth was already saying into his radio headset. "This is British Airways flight BA0478 from Rome on approach to Heathrow, we have lost our number four engine and are requesting clearance for an emergency landing. I repeat, we have lost the number four engine and are requesting clearance for an emergency landing."

"Roger that flight BA0478, this is Heathrow Tower, we have you on our scopes. Permission granted, we are clearing runway six for an emergency landing. Adjust your approach vector to…"

As his copilot repeated instructions back to the tower, Theo looked out the window to his right, watching as the in flight extinguishers successfully put out the flames in number four. He shuddered at the thought of all the paperwork and reports that now loomed in his future. Not to mention the media circus that would inevitably accompany the downing of yet another Airbus. Well, at least this time they couldn't blame it on Rolls Royce, manufacturer of the engine, or on poor maintenance. Theo didn't know what he saw, but he knew he saw something get pulled into the engine before it blew.

Author's notes:

This story is in response to AramilOniasha's challenge to kill Voldimort with the hand of a muggle. Just a thought that popped into my head after reading about an Airbus performing an emergency landing in the paper. This story won't be very long or complete, just a handful of short chapters.

This takes place just before the Half Blood Prince.

The only real change is that Voldimort, the arrogant jerk, is proudly wearing Salazar's ring instead of having hidden it under the floor boards of his grandfather's house for Dumbledore to find.


	2. Chapter 2 Fog of War

Chapter 2: Fog of War

Snape paced restlessly in the sitting room of the Black family manse, secret headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. At his report, Dumbledore had summoned the order to meet, but so far only himself and the Weaselys had arrived. Arthur was perched upon a stuffed chair, avidly reading a newspaper, while his wife, Molly, had commandeered the long unused kitchen to prepare a proper meal for the beleaguered witches and wizards that had yet to arrive.

"Incredible!" Arthur said excitedly, as if he had just made a world changing discovery. "Did you know that the muggles can attack each other in astral space? Only, they call it…" He paused, searching the small print for the proper term. "Oh yes, cyber space." Voice rich with fascinated awe, he mispronounced the word cyber, giving it a hard 'k' instead of starting it with a hiss.

Frustrated, worried and easily annoyed, Snape snatched the paper from his hands. Looking over the front page, Snape saw the banner headline for the London Times, disgusted to discover that it was a muggle paper as evinced by the fact that none of the pictures were moving. The one on the front page, under bold print announcing the downing of yet another airbus airplane, showed the distant image of a giant aircraft being towed into a cavernous hanger where it would be disassembled and inspected to determine the cause of one of its massive engines exploding.

Snapes' lip curled in derision. 'Muggles and their worthless contraptions.' he thought. He almost pitied them for their ignorance.

"Why are you wasting your time on this…drivel?" He asked.

Arthur failed to notice Snapes' tone of contempt, mind still lost in the fascinating world of muggle news.

"Albus asked me to keep an eye on how the muggles were reporting the activities of the Death Eaters. He instructed me to watch for signs of things we might have missed. It really is quite fascinating, the things they go on about. Why…"

Snape cut him off by throwing the folded paper into his face.

"I have no interest in the blind bungling of muggle newspapers, we get enough of that from the Daily Prophet. No, what I want to know is why Dumbledore isn't here? It was he that called this little soirée."

It was clear to Arthur that Snape felt he had more important things to be doing with his time.

"Try to relax Severus." He advised. "Albus will arrive soon enough, it is we who are early."

The Weasleys had been visiting their son's shop on the nearly deserted street of Daigon Alley, but the sight of so many empty and damaged storefronts had driven them to take refuge in the Black home.

Snape had been just to worried and anxious to sit still and so with nothing else to do, had also arrived early hoping to speak to their leader alone. Unfortunately he'd had no such luck, instead being subjected to Arthur and his questionable interest in muggles.

He was opening his mouth to say something less than complimentary, when they were both interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Followed by most of the rest of the order entering the sitting room, all but Dumbledore and Potter that is. Even Hermoine and the Weasley brats were now here.

Stomping into the room, Mad Eye Moody looked about before asking; "Does anybody know why Albus called this meeting?"

The others shook their heads, quiet murmurs proclaiming their shared ignorance.

Snape knew, but didn't feel the need to share. Not until Dumbledore arrived.

They didn't have to wait long, as soon the door opened once again admiting the aged wizard and his young charge.

"Aye Harry, you okay?" Ron solicited his friend, noting his pale demeanor and slightly noxious caste to his face.

"Yea Ron, Hermoine." Harry greeted his friends with a smile and quick hugs. "Just my first time appirating and I'm afraid my stomach didn't much care for it. Of course it could have just been Aunt Petunia's casserole or Dudley's eating habits."

The three shared a chuckle, relieved to see each other for the first time that summer.

"Well you won't have to deal with those blighters much longer, Dad says the wards around the burrow are nearly complete and then you can spend the rest of summer with us."

"I can't wait." Harry replied with sincere anticipation. Just the thought of staying at the Weasley home until the school year started was enough to fill him with childlike excitement.

"Yes, very exciting children." Snape interrupted, "But we have more important things to discuss then Potter's home life."

"Quite right Severus." Dumbledore intervened, officially starting the meeting. "I requested this meeting because Professor Snape has some disturbing news to report. Severus…" With that, the respected elder surrendered the floor to their resident spy.

Drawing himself up, Snape dropped his bombshell on those assembled.

"The Dark Lord is missing."

Whatever else he might have said was lost in the excited and confused babble that took over the room.

"Are you sure Severus?" Remus asked, as if he couldn't help doubting his old classmate.

The look Snape gave him made it clear the feeling was mutual.

"Yes. As near as I can tell, no one has seen or heard from Voldimort in over a week. Certainly all of my attempts to contact him have come to nought and I feel it safe to assume that given the crumbling state of the Death Eaters, none of them have heard from him either. Bellatrix is becoming quite…unstable."

"Well this is good news!" Arthur expounded. "Cause for celebration!"

"Wait!" Kingsley Shacklebolt's commanding voice rang through the excited murmurs. "How can we be sure this is not another of Voldimort's tricks? That he is not up to some mischief to important for him to be bothered with his followers?"

"The Dark Lord would never allow the doubt of his power that is beginning to stir among his followers. Not by choice." Snape answered.

"Quite right, Severus." Dumbledore said, taking back control of the floor. "Young Mister Riddle was always too concerned with being in control to allow things to slip so badly. That is why I have brought Mister Potter, to see if he has any insight into the thoughts of our enemy. Well Harry?" He asked, looking with concern at his protégé. "Have you had any feelings or visions from your connection with Voldimort?"

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable being the intense focus of so much attention. Stealing himself, he spoke; "Last Friday I was visiting a little café in the London tube, that's the city train system," He explained to the puzzled looks of several of the others who were less familiar with the muggle world. "When my scar started to really burn. For a moment there I swear I saw Voldimort standing on the platform across from me. I was suddenly struck by a pain so great it took me off my feet, but then…it was just gone. It was like my connection to him had been severed."

"What does this mean Albus?" McGonnagal asked. "Could something have happened to Vodimort?"

"I don't know Minerva." He answered, stroking his beard absently with his blighted right hand. "I think it would be best if we did not get our hopes up. Our enemy has disappeared once before, only to rise up again when least expected. I am afraid I must ask Severus to continue his charade and seek knowledge within the enemy camp. Can you do this Severus?"

"Of course Albus." Having answered, Snape appirated out.

Author's notes:

I had hoped to hear from AramilOniasha on whether or not this fit their challenge. No such luck.

The next chapter of Hogwarts is nearly ready for posting.


	3. Chapter 3 The Center Cannot Hold

Chapter 3: The Center Cannot Hold

With the aid of a security agent the Prime Minister of England exited his black Bentley, followed by his secretary and secret protector, Kingsley Shakelbolt.

The Prime Minister wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Shakelbolt. The tall black man was a damn fine secretary, best he ever had, but the secret knowledge that he was also one of those wizards he so hated to deal with left him more than a little unsettled in the man's presence.

Kingsley, who's tweed suit made him look more like an oxford professor than a secret service agent, was aware of the Minister's obvious discomfort and did his best to put the muggle leader to ease.

Currently they were standing in the car park at the offices of the Air Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB), located in the woods just south of the main runway of the Farnborough Airport in Rushmoor.

Walking from the nearby office building to greet them was a short middle aged man with light thinning hair, a rather pronounced paunch and sharp blue eyes behind a pair of wire frame bifocals.

"Prime Minister, welcome to the Farnborough House." He greeted them with a nervous but friendly smile.

"Thank you Inspector…" The Prime Minister paused long enough to read the name on the security tag hanging around the man's neck. "Silus. And thank you for accommodating us, I appreciate that your very busy with the investigation."

"It is our pleasure Minister. If you will follow me." With that he led them across the car park, past the 'L' shaped office building and towards the single, large hanger located on the grounds.

It was unusual for the Prime Minister to visit the AAIB headquarters, usually he would wait for them to deliver their report to his office, but after the Brockdale Bridge disaster he couldn't afford not to be seen taking the safety of the public transportation system seriously. Even though none of the passengers were in any way hurt, or even seriously inconvenienced, his smarmy faced opponent had already gone on the telly to report how this was just one more example of how the current administration had allowed public safety to slide. No matter that the A380 Airbus was only months old and not the first to suffer engine problems. In politics it didn't matter who was really to blame, only who would really be blamed. If he wasn't careful, Fudge would not be the only Minister to get sacked this year.

As Inspector Silus led the Minister and his entourage past a guard and into the brightly lit hanger, the Minister asked; "Have you succeeded in finding a cause for the airplane's engine failure?"

Looking quite chagrined, the inspector answered with a small shake of his head.

"Yes and no, Mr. Minister. We have found physical evidence of the accident within the engine itself but, to be honest, we are all quite baffled. If you will follow me, I'll show you what I'm talking about."

He led them across the hanger, past the systematically arranged pieces of the Airbus' engine nacelle (the plane itself was much too large to transport from Heathrow and was already being refitted with a new engine) to a long table littered with plastic bags, debris and more labels than the national census.

"All evidence points to some object being drawn through the engine, causing the turbine to break and catch fire."

"So this was caused by a bird then? Like that plane in America."

The look on the inspector's face didn't fill the Prime Minister with confidence.

Of course not, it couldn't be something so simple, so not his fault. What was he thinking.

Inspector Silus redirected their attention to the table and the objects spread across its surface.

"We found charred cloth, fragments of bone, blood spatter and most amazingly…" He held out a clear plastic bag, the contents of which appeared to be about the size of a man's thumb. "this."

Taking the bag from the inspector's hand, the Prime Minister studied its contents carefully. Inside was a silver ring set with some sort of black stone.

"We found that wedged between the remains of the turbines and the outer casing. By all rights it should have been smashed beyond all recognition, but as you can see it appears to be completely unscathed. To be bluntly honest, none of what we have found makes the slightest bit of sense. We have no idea how to explain it."

The Minister was studying the ring inside the bag intently, when Mr. Shakelbolt interrupted with a question of his own.

"Inspector, did your team find any wood fragments?"

"Wood fragments? Why would we find wood inside an engine?"

"Well, I was just thinking if it wasn't a bird, then perhaps it was something man made, like a kite or small glider. Something made with wood and cloth."

The smile Silus gave him was only slightly patronizing. The look of a trained professional who was used to trying to explain his craft to the uninitiated without being too insulting.

"We had thought of that Mr. Shakelbolt, but the cloth fragments are far too heavy a material to serve on a kite and that doesn't explain the blood spatter or bones."

Handing the ring back to the inspector, the Prime Minister reclaimed control of the conversation.

"Surely you will be able to determine whether or not the bones and blood belonged to a bird."

Carefully returning the bagged ring to its place on the table, Inspector Silus looked his ruler in the eye before answering.

"Yes, of course sir. We have already sent off samples of both to Cambridge University. Their genetics department should have an answer for us within a few days."

The Prime Minister looked over the scattered remains of the once mighty engine with a growing sense of defeat. Without a definite answer he would be unable to stop the rampant speculation and yes, accusations already making the rounds of the talk shows.

"Thank you Inspector. Mr. Shakelbolt and I will leave you to your investigation. Please notify my office with the results of the genetics tests."

"Of course sir." Silus answered as he led them back to the door.

Once safely ensconced within the privacy of the Bentley, the Prime Minister addressed his secretary and bodyguard with an air of disbelief.

"Wood Mr. Kingsley, from a kite?"

"Actually no sir. Wood from a broom."

"A broom?" The Minister responded, confused.

"Yes Prime Minister, the broom the unfortunate individual who was drawn through that engine was most certainly riding."

It took a moment for the embattled politician to make the connection his fellow passenger was making between the cause of the plane's engine trouble and what the inspector had shown them, but once he did he sucked in a breath of horror.

"Are you insinuating that the object sucked into that engine was actually a person…a wizard?"

Shakelbolt nodded.

"A wizard or witch, yes. While I can only speculate on the victim's gender I do know one thing for certain…" Before continuing, he pulled a plastic bag and its familiar contents from his jacket pocket. "this ring…is magical."

Ignoring the fact that his companion had stolen evidence from an ongoing investigation, the Minister turned his mind towards a greater problem.

"How am I going to explain this to the public? Surely you don't expect me to announce that the problem was caused by a witch on a broomstick?"

"Relax sir." Kingsley said reassuringly, returning the ring to his pocket. "By this time tomorrow the investigators will announce that the incident was indeed caused by a bird. We will see to that."

"You…I…" The Minister closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths to center himself. "Please Mr. Shakelbolt, don't explain it to me. Just make this go away. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course sir." Kingsley answered with a grin that sent shivers down the muggle's back. He imagined this was how Alice felt when confronted by the Cheshire cat.

"Trust us, we have people for that."

****(Page break)

"He's a traitor!" Bellatrix screamed as she fired off another spell at Snape, one he handily blocked. There are advantages to remaining calm. Something the LeStrange woman never grasped. Not that she was capable of being calm, or rational. "Tell us where Voldimort is?" She screamed, firing off a spell once more.

The inner circle of Death Eaters were gathered in the great hall of the Malfoy manor, a meeting called by Bellatrix LeStrange in an effort to find the current whereabouts of Lord Voldimort. No one had seen him since he left two weeks before on a secret errand. No sooner had Snape appirated in, then with a shriek of rage, the unstable witch attacked while screaming accusations.

With a negligent wave of his wand, Snape again blocked her attack . On the outside he appeared totally unperturbed, while on the inside he was walking a razor's edge.

"I'm sorry Bellatrix, but I can not. Like you, the Dark Lord did not see fit to tell me where he was going."

Snape had tried to find out. Voldimort often disappeared with none the wiser and the Order was desperate to find out where he was going and what he was up to. It was all for naught though. Voldimort seemed to take obscene pleasure from keeping even his most loyal followers in the dark. The Dark Lord was too enamored of the role of the mysterious and enigmatic wizard, it was one of his greatest weaknesses, keeping secrets for the sole purpose of keeping them. If not for that it wouldn't have taken nearly fourteen years for him to come back after the debacle in Godric's Hollow.

Bellatrix continued to fire off spells and Snape continued to almost negligently block, while his thoughts were focused on evaluating the reactions of the other Death Eaters around them.

Some, like Bellatrix, were anxious for action, frothing at the mouth to go out and punish someone, anyone, hoping somehow their actions would bring their master back. Others appeared uncertain and it didn't take much to realize that if the Dark Lord didn't return soon, they would just disappear, same as last time. Still others had the light of ambition in their eyes and Snape knew that separate alliances were already being forged as the more ambitious among them sought to place themselves as the new Dark Lord. Lucious would have been the first among them, if he wasn't imprisoned by the Ministry for the botched raid on the Hall of Mysteries.

In spite of their personal leanings, everyone present anxiously watched the byplay between Snape and Bellatrix, the two who stood highest in the Dark Lord's favor, for if Voldimort did return, the decision of which to support could very well determine who lived and who did not.

Bellatrix may be ignorant of what her fellows were thinking, but Snape was not and he knew that indecision was the only thing standing between him and a painful death.

It would all be so much easier if Snape only knew what had happened to his former friend and master. If he did it would be child's play to divine what that simpleton would want and if he knew Voldimort wouldn't be returning, then he would have arrived at this meeting with all the might of the Order of the Phoenix behind him.

Instead he found himself dancing with Bellatrix and attempting to play both sides off the middle.

"Where is he then? Why has no one heard from him?" Fenrir interrupted, his barking voice finally succeeding in stopping Bella's pointless attacks as both she and Snape turned to regard the bestial intruder. The werewolves respected only strength and would not follow a weakling. If Voldimort had indeed fallen again, they would abandon his cause faster than rats from a sinking ship. They would also, quite likely, start several fires on their way over the rail.

"What should we do?" One of the bolder Death Eaters asked, leaving unsaid the 'if he does not return'.

They were all thinking it, but none dared say it aloud in case their master did return. Voldimort did not suffer doubters lightly.

Chin held high, a mixture of pureblood arrogance and insanity stamped upon her face, Bellatrix stepped forward capturing everyone's attention.

"We take their precious Potter. If the Ministry refuses to cooperate, then we send their _savior_ back to them in pieces. That is what we do!" That said, Bellatrix turned and left the room, drawing several of the others to follow her.

Snape didn't bother to curb the disdainful sneer from his face. Bellatrix refused to learn from her mistakes and just like last time, she was heading off on a self destructive rampage. Her torture of the Longbottoms hadn't yielded the whereabouts of the Dark Lord in the past, ending instead with her stay in Azkaban, and any attempt on the Potter brat would likely end the same. It couldn't, he felt, happen to a nicer person.

Still, Snape knew that if he was to keep the others from turning on him, he would need to throw them a bone, provide a sacrificial goat for them to chase.

He had the perfect candidate.

"There is one person who might know where the Dark Lord went."

"Who?" Someone asked.

"Why, the same person who accompanied Lord Voldimort the last time he returned, the one person who never said where our master went before," He paused, drawing out the moment, letting their anxiety build. "the rat, Peter Pettigrew."

"Where is the coward?" Fenrir asked, hunger in his eyes and in his voice.

"He has already fled." Snape told them with a cold smile. He neglected to mention that Peter did so after Snape hinted that the others would come to him for answers. The treacherous coward was second only to Riddle in blame for Lily's death and as much as Snape hated to absolve Black of guilt, Sirius was dead and he felt Peter had avoided punishment long enough.

As the werewolf and his crowd left to hunt, Snape departed before anyone else could decide to eliminate him from their path. He knew most would go into hiding, waiting with dread the return of Voldimort, while fearing that he truly was gone for good, while the rest would jockey for his throne.

Divided upon themselves and lost without direction, the Death Eaters were finished and this time not even fear of Voldimort's wrath might bring them together again.

The only exception was their hostess, Narcissa Malfoy. She let out a shudder of relief. If the Dark Lord didn't return then he couldn't demand the sacrifice of her son. Draco would be safe.

Unnoticed, Voldimort's familiar slept coiled in a corner, a fragment of her master's soul held within her cold and scaly heart.


End file.
